The Wolves and the Greyhounds by Robert Schreiner

Author:Robert Schreiner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robert Schreiner

SIXTEEN

Sunday, November 1, 1914

Pacific Ocean, 50 Miles (80 kilometers) West of Coronel, Chile

“CHRIST,” muttered Captain Francklin of Good Hope as he looked eastward with field glasses. “Luce was right. We’ve found both of their armored cruisers.”

Admiral Cradock did not immediately answer. He, too, was peering through binoculars. The German squadron was approaching from the northeast—the closest ship still some ten miles away. Even at this distance, he could see that the lead armored cruiser—which he assumed was von Spee’s flagship, Scharnhorst—was flying her black, white, and red battle ensigns. Steaming behind her was Gneisenau, equally immense and menacing. The huge, light gray warships were plowing powerfully though the heavy swells, their bows throwing up great fans of foaming spray. Identifying the enemy ships caused him to catch his breath—and for a second, he had trouble believing the sight before his eyes. For months, they had speculated on, wondered about, and dreaded the possible approach of the Germans from Tsingtao. To actually see those ships here, off the Chilean coast, was somehow both surprising and vindicating. He had been right all along.

Then he noticed the funnels and upper works of Leipzig, trailing behind the armored cruisers, near the limit of his visual range. In a sickening moment, Cradock realized that the Germans had used some form of wireless trickery to make him think that only Leipzig was operating in the area. How could he have been so foolish? He also realized that the other ships of the enemy squadron were out there as well, probably still beyond the horizon. Quite simply, he had been drawn into a trap. The Germans were prepared for battle—and he had a decision to make.

“Action stations and raise the battle ensigns,” said Cradock, who turned to the helmsman. “Turn south and assume a new course, one-hundred eighty degrees. Flag signal to the squadron: follow in battle line formation—Good Hope, Monmouth, Glasgow, then Otranto.” He lowered the glasses. “Send a wireless signal to Canopus. Hopefully she can hear us through the jamming. We need to know how far away she is.”

“Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant standing to his right, who then repeated the order through the voice pipe to the wireless room.

Good Hope turned southward, her bow now pointed directly into the howling wind and surging seas. The old warship plunged heavily through the swells, and the decks beneath the men’s feet pitched dramatically as they rode over and through the powerful waves. Foaming green water washed over the forecastle, now with enough force that great fans of spray erupted from the forward gun turret as the waves struck the bulbous steel obstacle jutting from the deck.

Half a mile behind the flagship, Monmouth fell in behind, matching Good Hope’s course, followed by Glasgow. The cumbersome Otranto, which had been having difficulty all day in the rough conditions, had not yet joined the line—and was still attempting to come about some four miles to their northwest.

“They’ve turned and assumed a parallel southward course, sir,” said Francklin, watching through

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